Spiraling Downward
by Thomas Cale
Summary: Agent Norman Jayden saved the kid, caught the killer- sort of- and went back to FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C., where he had a proper office. All in all, everything was going well for him- barring the onset of madness and the struggle with addiction. This is the tale of Norman Jayden attempting to best his biggest enemy yet- ARI. (Reboot of an old story)
1. Prelude

Agent Norman Jayden, FBI. The man sat at his desk, staring intently at his tightly clasped hands. He was thinking at a million miles a minute, his thoughts swirling throughout his head, never quite staying long enough to be nailed down but never leaving before he could take a general idea from them. His head had been like this a lot lately; he was suffering from certain addictions, certain problems which hindered his coherent thought processes.

He had been hailed as a hero: he was the agent who saved the day, the man who had made children safe again. He had nearly single-handedly caught and defeated the Origami Killer by compiling evidence he gathered himself; he was hindered by his uncooperative "allies" at the police department, but overcame the odds and put an end to the Origami Killer's reign of terror. The popular evening talk show Let's Talk Tonight had invited him to speak as a guest, and he had gladly accepted; on national television, Norman Jayden was declared a hero. He had simply smiled and accepted the compliments, quite unused to all of the (in his opinion) unnecessary praise. He had simply performed his duties, and performed them to the best of his ability.

It was after the show that his emotional trials truly began. Norman Jayden was a genius by all accounts, but he was certainly not a machine- to solve the Origami Killer case entirely on his own, he had required aid. He had previously signed up for the FBI's experimental ARI Program. The idea was to introduce a new, groundbreaking technology- the Added Reality Interface, or ARI. ARI was composed of a visual interface, which resembled a pair of sunglasses, and a physical interface, a single black glove. The glove allowed him to interact with the visual world created by the glasses; when he wore ARI, he could see things that others couldn't. ARI highlighted possible pieces of evidence based on the information it had about the current case. It also provided him direct access to the FBI's database. In short, ARI made him a multipurpose crime-solving extraordinaire.

However, ARI also made him an addict. When he applied for the ARI Project, he was fully aware that the technology was very experimental- he was prepared to face any negative effects produced by the gadget. What Norman was not prepared for was the complete and total addiction ARI would bring about- he was not prepared to become a junkie. When he went without ARI, he suffered negative effects from his brain attempting to react to the sudden shift in reality- his nose bled, his hands shook, his thoughts were scattered and his vision blurred and contorted. Eventually, Norman found a way to counteract these symptoms- he fought one drug with another. Triptocaine alleviated the negative effects of ARI. On the other hand, Triptocaine was also an experimental drug in and of itself, meaning it was very possible to overdose on it. Norman had once taken an obscene amount of Triptocaine- his withdrawals from ARI wouldn't even permit him to lie down without twitching violently, so he decided that a dose larger than normal was required. Soon after taking the Triptocaine, he felt his body begin to function at normal levels again. However, the effects of the Tripto didn't stop there; not only did his functions revert to normal, they slowed to a degree which shocked him. He could feel his heart struggling to beat, his lungs struggling to expand. After a few moments of absolute terror, he recovered, and monitored his use of Triptocaine very closely ever after.

Essentially, Norman Jayden had become a hero, but one with a great deal of weaknesses. He was still a genius; mentally, he was sharper than ever, and when he could function normally his physical actions were more than satisfactory. Psychologically he was a wreck. Very soon after the end of the Origami Killer case, Norman Jayden experienced something which he had not, until that point, experienced; something which terrified him more than the Triptocaine overdose. The alternate reality provided by ARI had often clashed with the reality seen by the rest of the world- sometimes he would remove ARI and still see the world around him as though he were wearing the glasses, just for a short period of time. These instances were always harsh- the two realities always fought with each other for control. This specific incident changed his perception of his life; the two realities merged seamlessly. One of the features of ARI was a small minigame section, just something to pass the time between cases. One of these games involved miniature tanks driving around and shooting at each other. About one week after finishing the Origami Killer case, Norman Jayden removed ARI and watched a fleet of small, holographic tanks rove across his desk. After making sure that his glasses were indeed off, he came to a startling realization; "Added Reality" had begun to usurp actual reality. When he came to this realization, he abruptly fell unconscious.

By now, Norman was used to these tanks. They were a symptom of madness, certainly, but they never interfered with him. They seemed content to observe, marching across his desk and floor like little rats scurrying about their cage. The tanks were not the reason he was having a panic attack, sitting at his desk and trying not to scream; suddenly, Added Reality had become just a bit too real for him. Something new had happened, something horrifying. ARI had always been immersive- perhaps, looking back, it had been too immersive- but the user had never quite been able to actually touch the objects created by it. Rather, ARI had sent feedback through the glove, tricking the user into "feeling" whatever he or she was "touching." The reason Norman was re-evaluating his life was that one of the tanks had just bumped into his leg- and he had felt it, had recoiled at the sensation.

The thing immediately sped away, as though it were as frightened as he were. Norman struggled with the idea that these things- things which he was sure were hallucinations- could now touch him. He cleared his mind and set about to solving the problem posed by the fact that his hallucinations were now tangible. He came to the conclusion that it was physically impossible for intangible things (which the tanks most definitely were) to be touched, meaning that the feeling had been in his imagination. Then again, when he really thought about it, that was all ARI was; a tool which enhanced the power of his imagination, presenting him with an altered reality and tricking his brain into accepting it.

Realistically, it had been a matter of time before this altered- or rather, Added- reality had a damaging effect on his brain. Looking back on it, Norman wondered how he hadn't seen it before; if ARI presented him with a false world, a place in which he could transform his office into the barren surface of Mars or pull a filing cabinet from thin air, how could his brain cope with that? The human mind was not a simple thing- it couldn't simply switch between realities with a snap of the fingers because it tried to fill in the gaps as to why these realities were changing. Perhaps it was the issue of his subconscious attempting to discover why there were two different versions of the world that created the addiction; perhaps, on some deeply buried level of his psyche, he was solving yet another mystery. Consciously, however, Norman only knew that he had just felt something which lacks physical form touch him, which meant only one thing; not only was ARI altering his vision when he wasn't using it, it also had a grasp over his nerve endings. If he had felt that tank, what was to stop his imagination from creating the lack of atmosphere associated with Mars? Norman was sure that this was the first true sign of madness- the tanks roving across his desk had been a precursor, something amusing to foreshadow the dark truth. If Norman didn't stop using ARI entirely, completely remove that addictive effect produced by his brain, if he didn't sever the connection entirely, ARI could trick his brain into killing him. Ironically, he supposed with a mirthless half-chuckle, curiosity could kill him.

Gently, he picked up his ARI and rubbed his index finger on the rim. Without thinking, he held them up to his face and stopped with them inches from his eyes- then, he dropped them on his desk and dug his nails into his arm. He couldn't, not anymore. He had to find a way to cope. If he didn't stop using ARI, he would die; therefore, the solution was simple. He would have to stop using ARI. Rising to his feet, he grabbed his ARI glove and exited his office. Biting his lip, he forced himself to take the march down to the Director's office. The Director was understanding- Norman was sure that he would help. He got the Director's door and wrapped his fingers around the handle, aware that the Director's secretary was looking at him with confusion. Closing his eyes, Norman took a deep breath and knocked on the man's door, remembering that entering unannounced was one of the Director's pet peeves.

After a short pause, the Director's voice came through the door; "Come in." Norman took another deep breath and opened the door, stepping over the threshold and struggling to look his boss in the eyes. Norman stumbled forward, nearly tripping over his own shoes, and placed ARI on the Director's desk, tossing the glove down on top of it. Confused, the Director raised his eyebrows and waited for Norman to speak.

"Director, I can't- I mean, I shouldn't- it's just, this program is…" Trailing off, Norman forced himself to gather his thoughts. "Director, you know me. I love what I do. Solving crimes and catching criminals is what I live for. And ARI enables me to do that with ease. The problem, sir, is that ARI is… well, it's highly experimental, correct? It's also highly addictive. I've formulated a few theories, none of which sound sane enough to mention right now, but that doesn't matter; right now, my head is clear and my priorities are straight. I'd like you to take this from me."

Sighing, the Director reached out and took ARI in his hands, looking at Norman with worry engraved in the lines in his forehead. "Norman, I'm going to be honest with you. This is… not surprising. Other agents using ARI have reported… well, negative side effects from usage of ARI. None of them have been anywhere near as successful or dedicated as you, so it only makes sense that you'd be suffering from more advanced negative effects. Here's the deal: we have men working on this. In about a week or so, a new model of ARI is going to come out, with none of the problems of this version. I'm going to grant you sick leave for one week; at the end of the week, depending on how you feel, you can either renew your participation in the ARI program or return to your normal duties."

Norman had been trying to focus on the Director- he really had- but it was difficult. Those damn tanks were back again, circling the Director's chair like landlocked vultures. When Norman heard about the new version of ARI, however, his eyes snapped onto the Director's and he listened with rapt attention. In that instant, all of the walls he had erected to have the strength to give his ARI to the Director collapsed a single thought flooded into his mind: _I don't have to quit. _With a shaky grin, Norman agreed to take the week's sick leave and drove home.

It wasn't until he opened the door to his modest apartment and sat down on the edge of his bed that he began to feel it- the familiar gnawing at the back of his brain. The tiny voice muttering, _do it, put on the glasses, escape- just for a minute. _Norman reached into his jacket pocket and chuckled at his own absentmindedness. The chuckles soon subsided, however, when he realized that he wouldn't have ARI for a week- he'd have to deal with this incessant desire for seven days. The worst part of it all was, perhaps, that he'd have those seven days entirely to himself- an entire week to sit around trying not to gouge his own eyes out. Fortunately, it was fairly late at night and he was tired; Norman decided that it would be best to ignore the issue and fall asleep. Falling backwards so that he was lying down, Norman realized how hard it was to move- it was fortunate that he was this exhausted, because the next seven days would be hell.


	2. Day One- Cognizance

Norman awoke at around four in the morning in a cold sweat, his nails digging into his bed. The first thing he consciously felt was the absolutely ridiculous sense of desire; it was as though he had a gaping hole in his chest, one which he had to fill before he imploded into a pit of nothingness. That was exactly how he felt- if he didn't get ARI soon, that sweet bliss of Added Reality, the cool departure from this world- he would dissolve. Sitting up, he shook his head and tried to focus on something- anything- else. It was storming out- he actually didn't mind the rain, which was amusing enough considering what he'd been through. Maybe thinking about the Origami Killer case would help- maybe recounting the past would keep his mind off of the present.

Nope. The Origami Killer case reminded him of ARI, so thinking of that was a mistake, which manifested itself in the form of a pang of longing in his chest. Gnawing on his lower lip, he leapt to his feet and realized that he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday. Groaning, he peeled off the layers which were stuck to his body and looked down at his clammy form. Deciding a shower might help, he moved to the bathroom and ran the water. As he waited for it to warm up, he looked at himself in the mirror and grunted, recoiling backwards- that man in the mirror couldn't be him, could it? No, the man in the mirror was twitching, his eyes were bloodshot, he was obviously suffering from withdrawals; it couldn't be Norman. Deciding that someone was playing a prank on him, he turned to the shower and paused, confused.

He had just consciously decided that someone was playing a prank on him by changing his reflection. Laughing, he decided that maybe he needed a shower more than he realized, and stepped into the water before it warmed up all the way. The semi-cold water shocked him the rest of the way awake, and he washed the cold sweat off of his body. After he was done washing, he stepped out of the shower and a single thought ran through his head: _Oh shit_. Norman slipped on the tiled bathroom floor and hit his head against the wall. His vision blurred and his ears rang as consciousness slipped away from him.

"Oi. Wakey-wakey." A voice ushered him out of the realm of darkness and into the land of the light- and that of the living. Well, that was what he thought. When he sat up, he found that he was far from awake, and perhaps not to close to alive. He discovered that he was still asleep when he noticed two things simultaneously; the first was that he was surrounded by lush greenery, and appeared to be atop some sort of mountain. He recognized this place, knew it like the back of his hand, because it was one of ARI's "desktop" projections. The second thing that he noticed was that the voice which had spoken to him had a body- his body. Lurching to his feet, he attempted to understand why he was talking to himself.  
"Lookie here, he's awake," Norman's doppelganger sang with a malicious grin. "You have made a decision recently that I'm not so pleased with. You understand? You got rid of ARI- my personal toy. That was not your decision to make, Norman. Give it back." Shaking his head vehemently, Norman backed away, stumbling over his own feet. "No no no, you don't understand, Norman. This is not a request- do you realize who I am? I am your subconscious. Understand yet? Either give me ARI back or I will make your life hell." Norman began to feel himself floating upward, and his doppelganger hissed and clawed at his feet. "Do not leave, Norman. You do not leave!"

Leaping to his feet, Norman nearly slipped on the wet tiles again before catching himself on the wall. Groaning, he rubbed his head and attempted to rationalize the situation; he had come up with a theory that his subconscious was working against him, so he had had some sort of a fever-dream about it. It was simple- so simple he had trouble believing it. Was it possible that his brain had formed an image which he could relate to in order to communicate directly with him? Was it possible that his mind was going to hold him hostage until he agreed to get ARI back? Hell, if that was possible, what if his brain had made him slip on the tiles, could do more to hurt him?

Laughing at his own idiocy, Norman dismissed his wild theories and decided that he needed a break. He looked at himself in the mirror above his sink- and immediately regretted it. He was still looking at the reflection of a junkie suffering from major withdrawals, but this time the refection swam in and out of itself- his vision hadn't quite cleared yet. He sighed and clasped his head in his hands, gritting his teeth and trying to force himself back to sanity. His world had rapidly spiraled down into a pit of despair, and this week was his chance to claw his way out of it. He threw on an old bathrobe and a pair of slippers, welcoming the extra comfort.

Exiting his bathroom, he checked the clock- he had been unconscious for four hours. That explained why he was dry, then. Norman chuckled and cracked his neck, wondering how he would spend the rest of his day. He had previously made up his mind to stay inside, so he flopped down on his living room's couch and turned on the television. His stomach took the opportunity to rather loudly remind him that he hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday, and he slowly stood up, trying to keep the blood from rushing to his head. He wasn't exactly operating at maximum efficiency right now, so he would take all the precautions he could.

Shuffling over to his kitchen, he decided that a warm meal would be best, so he took two frozen corn dogs out of his freezer- he didn't need a good meal, just something warm and substantial. He popped them in his toaster oven and set the timer for twenty minutes, walking back to his couch and absently flipping through television channels in search of something familiar. He set the remote down when he came to some sci-fi show about a big reptile fighting a big shark and began to relax, soothed by the steady ticking of the toaster oven and the nonsensical "plot" of the television show. When it cut to commercial, he chortled darkly at the subject matter of the first advertisement.

"Do you hate being blinded by the sun when you step outside?" The overly-cheery celebrity endorser asked. "Try our new UV-Protected sunglasses!" Norman grimaced and muttered, "Fuckin' fantastic." Fortunately for him, the toaster oven dinged, signifying that his meal was ready. He jumped up from the couch, feeling a bit better than he had before, and jogged over to his kitchen. Opening the toaster oven, he juggled the corn dogs a bit until he could drop them onto a paper plate. Taking the plate with him to his couch, he devoured them and set the plate down beside him.

It was at about that moment that his day took an abrupt turn for the worst, which is saying something, considering that he had already nearly fractured his skull. Time seemed to pass abnormally quickly; in fact, everything seemed to be moving entirely too fast. The show was finished and he realized how much he hated science fiction, picking up the remote and changing the channel rather violently. Some small, rational corner of his brain recognized that he was suffering from a drastic mood swing, but that thought never really made it to his conscious mind. He hurled the remote to the floor when he couldn't find an interesting channel and began to pace, although it was actually less of a pace and more of a brisk jog back and forth.  
Deciding that a workout would alleviate some of the intense anger that had seized him, he threw on some sweatpants and an old t-shirt and left for the gym that his complex provided- for a small extra charge upon the signing of the lease, of course. It was three P.M. precisely and Norman wondered where the day had gone while he jogged down the path to the gym. Stepping inside he realized that he was alone; he was relieved, because he hated exercising with strangers. He made straight for the punching back and began pummeling it, throwing technique to the wind and packing raw aggression in every punch. Abandoning the punching back, he dropped to the floor and started doing push-ups- he started with regular, straight-backed, two-handed push-ups, but quickly moved to one-hand, and then to two hands with a clap as he rose upward.

He popped up to his feet and glanced at the clock, noting that he had spent two hours exhausting himself. Turning to the door to leave, he noticed that a crowd had gathered to watch the strange, lean man who exuded pure rage exercise. Nodding at the on-lookers, he stepped outside and walked back to his room, wiping sweat from his brow and letting the rain wash over him. Stepping through his door, he paused- he knew he hadn't locked it, but he certainly hadn't left it ajar. Frowning, his agent training kicked in; he may have been just a profiler, but he was still required to take the basic training courses. He crouched down and stuck to the wall, noting that he could hear noises from his bedroom.

Approaching his room, he stopped next to the doorframe and listened intently, trying to decide where the man was exactly. He waited until the noises the thief was making were the furthest away from him and popped his head in, taking a quick look. He saw a figure dressed in black with a balaclava on going through his nightstand's drawer. Dashing into the room, he grabbed the figure by the shoulders and threw him to the floor, crouching next to him and placing his knee on the figure's throat. "Talk," he ordered, "Now. Who are you and why are you here, apart from the obvious?"

The figure- Norman could see now that it was definitely a man- struggled for breath and slapped at Norman's knee. Rolling his eyes, the FBI agent increased the pressure on his captives throat until he spluttered, "Your- your door was unlocked, man! It's nothing personal; you were just an easy target! Shit, just let me go and I'll leave!" Shaking his head, Norman removed the thief's balaclava- he didn't know the guy, and the terror was evident in his eyes.

"Did you take anything?" Norman calmly asked, fighting to keep the anger out of his voice. His captive shook his head, and Norman hissed, "No, I guess I got here too soon, didn't I?" The rage began to course through him again, that uncontrollable anger that he couldn't keep down. "Well I'm going to teach you to stay the fuck away from me." Norman moved so that he was crouching over the would-be-thief and brought his fist down on the man's nose, feeling it break. He pounded his captive's stomach, dropping his elbow on his throat and driving his knee into the man's groin. Rising, his picked his victim up by the scruff of the neck and hurled him out of his room, chasing him out of the apartment and roaring at him to stay away.

After he was alone, Norman slammed his door shut and locked it, sliding down to a sitting position and breathing deeply. He stared down at his hands, noting that they were speckled with blood. Getting up and heading into his kitchen, he washed the blood down his sink's drain and dried his hands, collapsing on to his couch after the fact. He considered showering before he went to bed, but remembered what had happen last time he had showered; stripping down, he wandered into his bedroom and climbed into bed, curling up into a ball and wondering what, exactly, ARI had changed him in to before he fell asleep.


End file.
